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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389005">Your Burdens Are Now Forfeit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/W_H_4_T/pseuds/W_H_4_T'>W_H_4_T</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blessings of Mara [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cold, F/F, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, I was possessed by a ghost of fluff and just had to get this out of me, Someone caught a cold and needs bedrest stat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:08:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/W_H_4_T/pseuds/W_H_4_T</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia catches more than a cold.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Lydia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blessings of Mara [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Your Burdens Are Now Forfeit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pay the Jarl a fine or serve your sentance! I love Oblivion even though I played Skyrim first. This is the first non-graphic fic on my profile that isn't hyperfixated on a certain Dragon Age lady. Amazing milestone.</p><p>Feel free to anon me or whatever on my Tumblr <a href="https://w-h-4-t.tumblr.com/"><strong>@w-h-4-t </strong></a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Skyrim was known for being inhospitable but when cold weather struck, it always struck damn hard. It was probably a bad idea to try and cross Lake Ilinalta in the middle of winter. Even so, Zephyr thought a simple water-breathing spell would allow them to zip across the water without being submerged for too long. The mage even summoned some flames to dry their clothes. </p><p> </p><p>It had been a dumb idea overall. </p><p> </p><p>Lydia sat upright in her bed, her back pressed against the wooden wall as the Dragonborn shuffled around downstairs. The Whiterun woman in all her Nordic pride refused to acknowledge her shivering body or dreadfully high fever. Since returning home, Zephyr had noticed the oncoming signs of a cold and quickly confined the warrior to her room. Every few minutes, the sounds of a stifled sneeze could be heard from upstairs followed by a small sniffle. </p><p> </p><p>Time and time again, Lydia had informed her Thane that she was fine; that she’d experienced sickness three-fold worse and still did her duties without problems. All that achieved was a small tutting from the Breton woman followed by a stern demand to return to her bed. Not another protest was heard afterwards, not since Zephyr’s silver-grey eyes matched her stern reprimand; Divines help her, that look could send Sithis cowering in to His Void. </p><p> </p><p>Crossing her arms, Lydia began rocking her head against the wall, slowly thumping the back of her skull, relieving the building pressure in her stuffy head. She suppressed a small cough before listening for movement downstairs again. Zephyr had mentioned before that she needed to step out to Arcadia’s to get ingredients for a potion. A few moments passed and not a sound was heard causing Lydia to cease her restlessness and test her luck. Offering a quick prayer to Stendarr, Lydia slowly extracted herself from a bundle of furs meant to burn the fever out. </p><p> </p><p>And that’s when she realized exactly why the house had been dubbed Breezehome. </p><p> </p><p>A small draft sliced through a gap in the roof, chilling the warrior to her bones; another violent streak of shivers racked her body. Oh, she knew she shouldn’t get up but she’d be damned if she spent another day in bed instead of on her feet. Slowly pushing herself off the bed, Lydia groaned slightly as she suddenly felt a bout of dizziness overcome her, catching herself before she could tip over. </p><p> </p><p>Bringing her hand up to her slick forehead, Lydia applied pressure to her skull once more, her eyes squeezing shut as she placed her feet on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“This is what you get for calling me a milk drinker.”</p><p> </p><p>Caught by surprise, Lydia’s head tilted up, unfortunately, far too quickly as she suppressed another groan, her eyes burning and near-bursting from pain. In all the wallowing, she’d forgotten how skilled that Breton was at sneaking; her footfalls unnoticeable even on creaky wood panels.  </p><p> </p><p>Lydia hears the tutting again and Zephyr’s silent approach followed by the clinking of glass on a tray. A cool hand came to rest on her forehead, made colder by magic and it took all of Lydia’s strength not to fall backwards from relief. </p><p> </p><p>“When you are at home,” Zephyr starts as she removes her hand, “There is nothing to prove to anyone. Lay down your pride for a moment, Lydia,” a green eye opens slightly to see Zephyr fiddling with her tray, “I promise not to tell the other Nords that you’re feeling unwell.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a hint of humour in the Breton's tone but it’s mostly undercut by concern. Zephyr made a point to never speak plainly; her words were often posh and complex but never unkind. </p><p> </p><p>As the Dragonborn moved her attention to fuss with the furs surrounding Lydia, it was realized that the Breton was only ever helpful; compassionate. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve concocted a draught, a simple healing potion that -I warn you- is rather unpleasant to taste,” Zephyr explains while tightening the furs around Lydia's neck, securing the fabric with gentle patting fingers, “but it'll ensure you’re fit and hale before the ‘morrow.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of deliberation before Lydia slowly swung her legs back onto the bed before laying against the small mountain of blankets, her eyes drooping despite her boredom. </p><p> </p><p>Then a hand, firm yet gentle moves across the Nord’s cheek, with smooth fingertips tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. Through partially opened eyes, Lydia could see the warm smile on Zephyr’s face as her hand passed again and again over her skin. It was relaxing, impossibly so, yet Lydia still tried to fight it, not willing to slip away just yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Rest now,” Zephyr whispered, taking a knee to be at Lydia’s eye level, “You do so much for me, more than I could ever ask for. Let your burdens be forfeit, just for today, hm? Let me carry them.”</p><p> </p><p>In all her years of rough and tumble guard work, Lydia remained in anonymity, her emotions and inner thoughts all tempered to lay beneath her armour. She was just another Nord in a herd of Nords, she was no one.</p><p> </p><p>But as Zephyr continued speaking to her in a quiet, caring voice, Lydia felt...special. Seen. Needed. The people of Skyrim were hardy, reticent folk but that Breton woman, in all her fancy posture and magical talent, brought out the person buried deep under the steel shell. Though her skin was already reddened by fever, Lydia felt a flush creep over her face, burning her skin worse than before, but strangely, in a tolerable way.</p><p> </p><p>“Drink the potion. We’ll be back to smacking Draugr and defiling their tombs in no time.” Zephyr says before withdrawing her hand, much to the silent sadness of the sickly Housecarl.</p><p> </p><p>Lydia clears her throat, wincing at the stabbing pain raking up her neck, “Thank you, my Thane.” Her voice is scratchy and barely heard, but the Breton nods in understanding, her smile never faltering. </p><p> </p><p>“Zephyr,” she replies sweetly, “From the beginning of our first venture, I've allowed this use of my name. I am simply Zephyr.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Zephyr,” Lydia says again, trying her best not to cough, “For everything.”</p><p> </p><p>The Breton pats the blankets before rising up, “You’re most welcome, Lydia. Please do not strain your voice, all I request from you is your full recovery.”</p><p> </p><p>The Nord woman doesn't speak, her eyes blinking slowly as fatigue washed over her. Before she can react, Lydia feels the press of lips against her forehead, forgetting how to breathe as Zephyr spoke against her skin, a light kiss punctuating her words.</p><p> </p><p>“May Kynareth bless you.”</p><p> </p><p>The Dragonborn would have made a phenomenal thief with the way she moved, her clothes made no sound, her movements were precise, her feet sure in placement. Zephyr was gone as quickly as she came. </p><p> </p><p>Lydia surrendered herself to the bed, her hazy stare looking towards the end table where a potion stood. In a few moments, she’d try to get up and take the medicine, even as she dreaded the taste to come. Still, Lydia savoured the thoughtfulness.</p><p> </p><p>A blush found itself moving back up her chest as the Nord closed her eyes, her heart racing despite her reclined state. Zephyr was a pretty lady, sweet and kind despite her violent tendencies on the battlefield. Though Lydia held little care for a few particular Gods, she still said a silent prayer to her least favourite one before falling away into a deep sleep. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Mara, please help me. I think...I like her...<strong>a lot</strong>.  </em>
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